


red, orange, yellow flicker beat

by wishfulcanadian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Multi, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulcanadian/pseuds/wishfulcanadian
Summary: 'And our people talk to me, but nothing ever hits/So people talk to me, and all the voices just burn holes' - Lorde-It feels like a betrayal; sitting in McGonagall's warm office, sipping tea and enjoying a plate of jam and scones when just outside of the room, the walls of Hogwarts are weeping with grief and loss.-Or, there's not enough fics about how Harry and Ginny got together post-war and I took it upon myself to whip something up. Title taken from (duh) 'Yellow Flicker Beat' by Lorde from 'The Hunger Games' soundtrack





	red, orange, yellow flicker beat

**prologue**

 

Kingsley accosts her when she's walking from the infirmary to the Main Hall. 

 

“Ginny!” he calls out, handing over his briefcase to a frazzled assistant, and quickens his steps. “Spare me a minute?”

 

Ginny truly wants to say no, because a warm shower in the Prefects bathroom sounds like a piece of heaven, just about  _ now _ , but Kingsley looks serious and kind and Ginny nods before she can help herself. 

 

“Sure, Kingsley,” she says, and pushes back the hair falling all over her face. “What can I do for you?”

 

It’s been two days since the Battle of Hogwarts - as Barnabas Cuffe has taken to calling it while he wrote the headline for the Evening Prophet on May 2nd - was over, and Hogwarts was still in a state of shock. Half of the second and third floor corridors, including Flitwick’s and Vector’s offices, had collapsed from the weight of the spellwork. The Astronomy Tower was barely standing, the centaurs were camping in the Hogwarts courtyard temporarily for their colony had been razed to the ground by an errant Death Eater had set it on fire, the fiendfyre Goyle had set off had completely charred the seventh floor and it had taken a team of dragon handlers - headed by Charlie - to control it…

 

“There’s a scribe in the castle today,” he tells her, gently guiding her down a set of stairs whose marble banister was missing. “From the Department of Mysteries. She’s collecting statements and memories about the battle. Dennis Creevey told me you might be able to help.”

 

Ginny blinks. 

 

“The Creeveys are in the castle?”

 

Kingsley squeezes her shoulder in sympathy. They were still pulling out bodies from under the rubble, and  _ The Quibbler  _ and  _ Witch Weekly  _ were dedicating extra column inches to ‘Missing’ posters and obituaries. 

 

“Dennis and his parents were able to take the Hogwarts Express from Cheshire this morning,” he informs her gently. Neville must have taken it upon himself to alert Mr and Mrs Creevey. He’d been tasked with identifying the dead and the mangled-but-alive. Last Ginny had seen him, he was being force fed some toast and pumpkin juice in the library by Hannah Abbott. (Madam Pince had let them be - surprise! - and contented herself with sparing them stern glares every once in a while.) “I’m sorry for your loss, Ginny, I didn’t know you were best mates.”

 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and finds herself a little choked up at the thought of Colin Creevey, the littlest and bravest of them all. “I don’t know if I can help you out, though; I was locked inside the Room of Requirement for the longest time.”

 

If she sounds bitter and hollow, Kingsley does not call her out.

 

“It’s no problem,” Kingsley says. “Mr Creevey said something about a newsletter?”

 

Ginny sucks in a breath, but Kingsley goes on. 

 

“It’s remarkable that a group of children were able to hold down the fort here, and The Ministry would greatly appreciate your services if you recount the efforts by Dumbledore’s Army this past year.”

 

“Kingsley,” she laughs lightly. “I didn’t come back after Easter - I got lucky that I wore my DA galleon around my neck when Neville sent out the message - you really should ask people who were here for the whole term! Like, like, Sophia Wormwood from Ravenclaw! She has a photographic memory, I’m sure her -”

 

“Ginny,” Kingsley interrupts her and waits until she’s facing him at the foot of the stairs. Behind the open double doors, the Main Hall is sparsely populated for high tea. The only bout of activity was from several contractors and villagers the Ministry had hired to repair the damages to the school, who had broken off into an old, haunting  _ Phoenix Fire  _ song about victory and loss. “That was very brave. It must have taken hours of work to perfect the linking charms, and then teaching it to everyone so you can all communicate with the Carrows’ watching your every move. You need to give yourself more credit.”

 

Ginny bites her lip hard, in a futile effort to stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. It’s the damn song. 

 

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “Where am I meeting her?”

 

Kingsley lets out a relieved sigh. “She’s in McGonagall’s office in the fourth floor, the West Wing. I believe -” he sneaks a peek at the dial of his watch - “she’s still with Ms Granger and Ron.”

 

Ginny raises an eyebrow in surprise. Kingsley must have seen something on her face, because he gives her another apologetic smile. 

 

“Harry’s still out,” is all he says, and Ginny nods, because Ron and Hermione had been taking refuge in the boys’ old dormitory, relying on Kreacher to bring them food and clothes, united in sorrow and guilt. Her mother had made the trip late last night and reported that the three of them had been huddled together in Harry’s four poster bed, asleep, dried tear tracks on their cheeks. “It’s a matter of national security that I have an accurate account of the months the three of them spent on the run. Ms Granger has graciously suggested that she share her notes. I’m hoping Harry understands the magnanimity of his actions and consents to share his side of the story as well.”

 

Ginny snorts internally.  _ Good luck with  _ that _.  _

 

“Fine, I’ll drop by,” she promises. Who knows, she may even have time to lather her hair in the bath. Kingsley pats her on the back. 

 

“Thank you,” he says. “I better get going. There’s a Wizengamot session in an hour that I’m presiding.”

 

“Good luck,” Ginny chirps for his benefit and he acknowledges it with a salute, and disapparates. Ginny stares at the spot he vanishes from, and thinks dimly that McGonagall must not have had the time to raise the Anti-Apparition wards that the Dark Lord’s forces must have overpowered. 

 

The songsters seem to have increased in number, joined by The Hogwarts Choir, and as the music soars and falls, Ginny lets the first of her tears fall. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos = chocolate frogs, Comments = chilled butterbeer


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